an Adonis starter for @prophecyfated
It wasn’t often that Adonis and Rose had guests staying over. Of course, they had a guest room, but that was only a formality. All in all, their house was significantly smaller than their parents’ lodgings. (Still, larger than what most people their age could afford. If people their age could afford a small villa near central Birmingham to begin with.) Guests, particularly family friends, would always book a hotel room: They could easily afford it, and it was their own, private space. Unfortunately, Francis’ flight was so last-minute and the season was so busy that he had to stay his first night in England in Adonis and Rose’s guest room.
Having guests over always made Adonis nervous regardless of who they were, but his anxiety especially spiked when the guest was a family friend. Francis was no friend of Adonis’ family – his parents knew Rose’s – but it still felt dangerous to have him around. Any mistake Adonis made might as well be a sample under a microscope, and whoever was looking would be reporting their findings to anybody in their circle who would listen. Despite Rose’s attempt at quenching Adonis’ fear (“He’s as much a softie as you are.”) Adonis couldn’t shake his anxiety off.
Ultimately, he thought that maybe if he were a little tipsy when Francis arrived, he wouldn’t be too nervous to speak. So by Tuesday sundown, Adonis had had a nice glass of whiskey and had requested wine to be had with dinner.
The horror re-settled in when, as Adonis’ chauffeur left for the airport to pick up Francis, Rose called and informed him she’ll be late due to internship-related tasks. She’d have to miss dinner – originally a dinner for three. She was leaving Adonis to dine alone with their guest. Did she do it on purpose? Had Rose, for some reason, decided she wanted to hollow out Adonis’ stomach and plant infinite spikes on his skin? Did she even have any tasks she needed to get done? Why would she leave Adonis alone to tend to a guest? A family friend? A fellow upper-class boy who’d be his parents’ pride and joy, and much better at it than Adonis could ever hope to be, no doubt? Did Rose want Adonis to hate himself? To look at this supposedly “soft” man, have a conversation with him over steak and wine, and learn of all the ways he fell short? Was this some sort of punishment?
Adonis spent all his waiting time sat on the couch, tearing at the skin around his nails, wondering what it would feel like to ditch. What if he went to bed early, claimed to be sick? The cook and housekeeper would take care of Francis well enough. He wasn’t even Adonis’ guest. He was Rose’s. She’d be the one to blame if he felt unwelcomed. She—
“Sir, Smith called to say he and your guest will arrive in fifteen minutes. Shall I start setting up the tab—”
“Yes,” Adonis said quickly, interrupting the cook mid-sentence. The sooner this dinner happened, the sooner Adonis’ stomach could stop knotting itself. “But please, keep my portions small. I don’t feel well.”